


Preening Ourselves in the Snow

by Silberias



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, jon has a thing for redheads and you know it, set just after the Stark Reunion on the show before they had all that other stuff go on
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-26
Updated: 2016-08-26
Packaged: 2018-08-11 03:13:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7873933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silberias/pseuds/Silberias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And there must always be a Stark in Winterfell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Preening Ourselves in the Snow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BlueCichlid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueCichlid/gifts).



> Title comes from "Strangers when we meet" by Bowie. 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jbrTDjbVaVw

Sansa did not trust anyone but him to guard her as she slept. Brienne had to sleep sometimes, she reasoned as she helped Podrick set up her bedroll next to his the first night, and she knew no one else here. No one else was anyone to trust, either, for though he could trust Edd and Davos she knew nothing of them.

At first it was quite awkward for the only times he'd shared his bed or close-sleeping space were either with Ygritte before she died or with Robb and Theon when they'd been small children during the winter. Sansa was not his brother, and though she was a woman with a woman's curves now she was not Ygritte. Given the horrors of her past he did not think she would like it if he spoke of sharing his bed with a sturdy redheaded woman who took his 'no' and turned it all the way round into 'yes' against all his wishes.

She slept lightly, a dagger that Edd had given her clutched tight between her breasts. One small hand sitting tight around the grip, her breathing light and slow, and she was quicker than he had expected when he'd shifted around and woken her--she'd nearly put the dagger into him before she was even awake.

She had apologized profusely and from then on Jon had had her sleep at his side between himself and the wall of the chamber. That way she had something at her back that no one could attack her from and people had to go through him to get to her. She clung to him like a limpet, but her dagger stayed under her pillow. There were very rarely tears but sometimes she would whisper that they would keep Ramsay in a cell once they took Winterfell. They would keep him in a cell until she could swing the sword herself.

Jon did not want his sweet sister to swing the sword, it should be him or even Rickon--a man of her blood who stood for her honor, who acknowledged that it was still intact despite what had been done to her. She was a Stark of Winterfell and no bastard of the Dreadfort could stand taller than she and with better poise.

One night she wouldn't bed down properly, tossing and turning and Jon knew why--they were soon to leave for Winterfell, soon to retake what was theirs, and she would put to death the man that had tortured her.

"Sister, rest," he murmured, catching her hand and giving it a quick squeeze.

"I can't--he will call me his, and I am not his."

"Sansa, you are a Stark, you belong only to Winterfell, and Winterfell belongs to only you. He is a fever, a disease, and we will burn him out if we have to. Rest now," Jon said, wrapping one arm around her and pulling her against his chest. There had been another redhead who had forced him to do this--though that one had wanted to kill him then. That one had used herself to assure his loyalty to her cause--just as Melisandre had used herself to help control King Stannis and other men. Jon knew he was lucky that Sansa had done no such thing to him. Though really there was no need for her to manipulate him--he would follow her far and wide without so much as a beckoning.

It happened suddenly then, and he wondered later if he could have stopped himself someone had told him what would happen, that he kissed her forehead and inhaled the scent of her hair.

Sansa immediately relaxed, sighing and ceasing her frustrated movements. Jon became very aware of every place he held her and was about to retreat somewhat when she tilted her head up and pressed a chaste kiss on his lips.

 _\--sister, she's your sister--_ he tried to tell his cock but the worm was having none of that kind of talk, and so he tried to keep himself from kissing the corner of her mouth. He failed. Delicate and as feather-light as her own kiss had been he couldn’t stop himself from laying a returning kiss on her. His bastard blood flared and heated in his chest and he couldn't stop kissing her. First her lips, then her jaw and her pulse-point, then back to peck a kiss to her lips and finding her mouth open just the slightest bit.

Jon groaned and his hips jerked once before he tried to tear himself away _\--sister, she's your sister, she is of your blood you baseborn fool--_but he couldn't quite get away from her. Sansa had knotted her fingers into his hair and she deepened their kiss while throwing one leg over his and she was so hot that his thigh felt like it was on fire. He might have whimpered at the feeling.

"I want you, Jon, I want you."

"Sansa, no, you--you are--" it was hard to think as she very hesitantly rocked herself against his thigh, her every movement shooting straight through him to his cock. A bit of sweat chilled the sides of his face and forehead as he tried to avoid bucking back at her. She was not so aggressive as Ygritte but that just meant Jon had a little time to keep his wits about him. It meant he had time to know that for his part he wanted this more than he should.

"I'm a Stark, and you are half Stark--you belong to Winterfell, and Winterfell belongs to me."

"Sansa--" she put one of his hands on her breast and tucked her head under his chin as she rocked more firmly against him, and Jon knew his face was flaming from arousal and embarrassment, "you are my sister, just as Arya was. Surely--surely you would not want thi--this for A-A-Arya." Perhaps reminding her of their other lost sibling would snap her out of this. It only served to make her jerk harder against him. Some evil part of him, the oathbreaker, the bastard, whatever bad blood his mother had given him, reasoned that she was at no risk of falling pregnant with her own brother's child if she rocked herself to a peak on his thigh with their clothes between. That there was no harm in this hot comfort she offered and took freely. 

"I heard them talking of it," she said, her voice strained as she kept back her moans of pleasure, "that you bedded a wildling, took her for your wife for a time, that you--ah--that you were good to her. I need someone to be good to me, Jon, I need it. I need the heat and the warmth, I need to know it can feel good."

He hesitated a moment more and then asked a quiet question, trembling in the dark and tremendous in its meaning:

"I will not sire a bastard. What do you think of that, Lady Stark?"

Sansa stopped moving almost entirely, her hands moving to cup his face, smoothing her thumbs over his sweat-slicked cheeks and she gave him a quick chaste kiss. It almost undid him then and there in his leggings.

"If you put a child in me, Jon, you would sire the next Lord of the North. The next Stark of Winterfell. Or would you withdraw your protection of me if I grew heavy with your child? Do you think it shames me to choose a man of my own?"

It was not unheard of to name fatherless bastards the Lord or Lady of a northron hold--for it was certainly true that no one knew the fathers of almost any child born on Bear Island or the Last Hearth. Jon knew it. Sansa did too--could perhaps even name specific people who were born to high-born ladies of the North without fathers to show for it.

"If you do not want to I understand," she said quietly when he was silent too long, though she didn't move from her spot where she was soaking through the leggings he'd worn to bed. He could smell her, he was suffocating from it. If he died again at this moment he would die with few regrets. Not bedding her properly would be chief among them. 

Decision made, Jon quickly put an arm around her to keep her close, realizing she wanted action as well as words from him. Without the Watch he had felt lost, cast adrift in the world. Sansa provided an anchor for him--he would be a fool not to take what she offered.

"I'll bed you, I'll bed you for as many nights and for as many years as you're willing, Sansa. I--" he leaned in for a kiss and rolled her to her back, "I belong to Winterfell, I belong in," he surged his hips down against hers and relished in the hot gasp that washed over his ear for it, "Winterfell. Winterfell and all its holdings are yours by all rights. I am yours, by all rights."

If the men of the Watch hooted at them on the morrow it mattered little. They were both born and forged from ice, but tonight they would be tempered by fire.

**Author's Note:**

> (and then they had lots of sex and babies the end)
> 
>  
> 
> For BlueCichlid, who I wanted to cheer up.


End file.
